


To Bag A Hero

by moonshoespotterr (nicolem_85)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Hogwarts Era, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 18:44:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4798334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicolem_85/pseuds/moonshoespotterr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Draco realises that insults are getting him nowhere, he decides to take a new approach to bagging the Boy Who Lived.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Bag A Hero

**Author's Note:**

> So this is set in a sort of non HBP and DH compliant 7th year because I wanted them to be a certain age but also to ignore pretty much all of the dark stuff. Enjoy!
> 
> Thanks to Toby for being my beta once again :)

Pansy sighed as her stomach rumbled once again. At this rate there’ll be no breakfast left, she thought dolefully as the smell of bacon and eggs wafted out of the Great Hall. She glanced across at her best friend who was nervously pacing trails into the already worn cobblestones of the corridor. She supposed she should be used to it by now – after six years Potter-watching was as much a part of her daily routine as brushing her hair – but she had to admit that it was getting out of hand. 

“Draco,” Pansy whined, her best puppy dog eyes in place. “We’ve been waiting here for ages. Can’t we get some food and try again later?”

“How can you even think of food at a time like this?!” Draco demanded, refusing to pause in his frantic pacing. “And anyway, I need you, Pans.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Moral support and all that.”

Draco shot her an affronted look. She knew that look too well. It was the look that accompanied his well-practiced speech about haven’t we been friends forever and you know I would do anything for you, Pans that always had her giving in and doing whatever he wanted. Lucky for her, the Gryffindorks chose that moment to come charging down the staircase like the unruly brutes they were and Pansy stepped back to watch the show as Draco’s gaze locked onto Potter.

“Hey, scarhead,” Draco shouted, causing the Golden Boy and his cronies to pause. “Professor Trelawney owled, she wants her glasses back!”

Pansy’s lips twitched. He’d been practicing that one in the common room all morning.

“Bugger off, ferret,” Weasley spat, shoving past Potter like some lanky, ginger bodyguard. “Leave Harry alone.”

Draco’s ears flushed bright pink at the nickname. “I wasn’t talking to you, weasel.”

“Just shove off, Malfoy,” Potter said, grabbing Weasley by the arm and dragging him away. “Come on, Ron. He’s not worth it.”

Draco glared daggers at the retreating Gryffindors as the doors to the Great Hall slammed shut behind them. “Not worth it? Not bloody worth it, am I? Fucking weasel. Fucking Potter,” he muttered under his breath as he sagged against the wall next to Pansy. “I can’t even get a fucking rise out of him anymore. What am I supposed to do, Pans?”

“I think we need a new plan,” she replied. “I mean, insults were all good and well when we were eleven but if you really want Potter we’re going to have to try something else.”

Draco’s face scrunched in confusion. “Like what? I could spike his pumpkin juice with an uncontrollable hiccupping solution? Or I could charm his hair green?”

“Oh Merlin,” Pansy sighed. Sometimes her best friend was remarkably thick. “Come on,” she said, stretching her arm around Draco and leading him back down to the dungeon. “I’ve got some chocolate left from Christmas under my bed. And I think I’ve got an idea.”

\-----

Harry speared his fork into a nearby piece of bacon, his good mood from this morning had vanished in an instant.

“Why does Malfoy have to be such a prick?” he asked nobody in particular. “What, does he just lurk around the castle waiting to insult me or something?”

Hermione glanced up from the book she was reading in between bites of toast. “Just ignore him, Harry. You know he only does it to get a rise out of you.”

“Yeah, well it bloody works. Stupid Malfoy,” Harry grumbled. “What was he even doing hanging around so late? He always eats early.” His friends each raised an eyebrow. “What? He does!” 

“Well,” Hermione sighed and closed her book, resigned to the fact that she was unlikely to get any more reading done this morning, “maybe he was just on his way out.”

“Yeah, he was probably hurrying off to do some more lurking,” Ron added through a mouthful of eggs. “Maybe he’ll jump out at you from behind a suit of armour on the way to Transfiguration.”

Harry chucked at the image of Malfoy jumping out at him like a vampire from some cheesy Muggle movie and helped himself to a large serving of bacon. “You’re probably right, Hermione. I’ll just ignore him.”

\-----

Harry glanced suspiciously at Malfoy as he entered the dim Potions classroom later that afternoon. He hadn’t heard a peep from the Slytherin since breakfast and had taken to checking behind suits of armour as he made his way around the castle, just in case, but Malfoy looked uncharacteristically subdued as he took his normal seat next to Parkinson.

“I think Malfoy’s up to something,” Harry declared to Ron and Hermione. 

Ron instantly turned to glare at the offending party. “What? You think he’s planning something?”

“I don’t know,” Harry replied. He twisted in his chair to look at Malfoy and jumped when calm grey eyes met his. He scowled in anticipation of the usual taunts but was surprised when all he received was the slight raise of one blond eyebrow. Definitely up to something, Harry thought.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, Harry,” Hermione said. “I doubt very much that Malfoy is planning anything. And don’t encourage him, Ron,” she added with a light slap to the redhead’s arm.

He was about to respond when Snape flew into the room like an oversized bat, gave them their instructions for today’s potion and left them to collect ingredients. Harry shuffled to the ingredients cupboard, not particularly eager to begin brewing a potion that he was only going to screw up anyway, when he felt someone bump against his side. The first time it happened he ignored it – after all, a bit of shoving and elbowing wasn’t uncommon in the hurry to get the best ingredients – but the second time was accompanied by the brush of a warm hand against his that could only be deliberate. He looked around, expecting to see the pretty Ravenclaw who had been giving him eyes over her cauldron for the past few weeks, but froze in shock when he was greeted with the pale, pointed face of Draco Malfoy. 

“What the hell are you doing, Malfoy?” Harry demanded, snatching his hand away.

Malfoy blinked at him, the picture of innocence. “Why, I’m waiting to collect my potions ingredients, Potter. Speaking of which, it’s your turn.” He motioned with his head and Harry realised that he was, indeed, at the front of the queue and was holding everyone up.

“Err, right,” he replied, stumbling into the cupboard and rubbing his hand unconsciously.

If his concentration was strained at the beginning of the class, it was absolutely destroyed now. His potion was a complete disaster and wasn’t helped at all by his sudden compulsion to turn and stare at Malfoy every few minutes. A scream of “Harry!” was all the warning he had before his neglected cauldron exploded in a shower of bright green gloop.

\-----

“You could have really hurt someone, Harry,” Hermione lectured later that evening in the common room. “What if we had been brewing something more volatile? You could have covered the whole class with it.”

“I know, Hermione, and I’m sorry. But it was Malfoy’s fault. He wanted me to be distracted and blow up my potion - that’s why he kept bumping into me and grabbed my hand,” Harry explained.

Ron sputtered. “Wait, what? Malfoy grabbed your hand?”

“Well,” Harry said, “he didn’t exactly grab it. But I know he did it on purpose to shake me up.”  
“I’m pretty sure it was just an accident, Harry,” Hermione reassured him. 

“Yeah, just ignore him, mate,” Ron agreed. “Hey, can you imagine if Malfoy actually tried to hold your hand?” he laughed.

Harry joined in, rather weakly, and wondered why the thought of Malfoy holding his hand made his stomach break out into butterflies.

\-----

Harry picked miserably at his porridge. Thoughts of Malfoy had plagued his mind all night and yet he was no closer to figuring out what the blond was up to. He fought the urge to glance over at the Slytherin table for the hundredth time this morning – he didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea, after all – and instead stared intently at his plate.

Of course, it didn’t help one bit that, being a NEWT student, Harry now took classes with all other students in his year. Classes that included Malfoy. His lack of concentration continued all through the day: in Herbology Harry had dropped a rather large pot of soil onto Ron’s foot, in Transfiguration the hedgehog he was supposed to be changing into a pincushion had spontaneously combusted, showering the entire class with spines in the process, and in Charms one of his non-verbal spells had backfired and nearly set Neville on fire. 

“Really, Harry, it wasn’t too awful. Neville wasn’t even singed that badly,” Hermione consoled him as they made their way to the Great Hall for dinner.

Harry groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. He was about to reply that, yes; it really was that bad, when a familiar voice shouted out.

“Hey! Potter!”

Great, Harry thought. The last thing he needed. “What do you want, Malfoy?” he asked reluctantly.

He frowned as, rather than insulting Harry’s hair or glasses or general state of dress, Malfoy swaggered forward. When he was close enough that Harry could see each fleck of blue in his steel grey eyes he leaned down. "You're looking good today,” he said so softly that Harry doubted anyone else could hear.

Malfoy smiled at the Gryffindor’s gobsmacked expression and sauntered through the double doors of the Great Hall as Harry watched, dumfounded.

“What did he say, Harry?” Ron asked.

Harry blushed. “Er, nothing.”

Hermione glanced thoughtfully between Harry’s current position and where Malfoy had just disappeared and shook her head. “Well, I, for one, am starving,” she said, heading over to the Gryffindor table.

Harry sat down and, out of habit, filled his plate from the bowls in front of him but his mind was elsewhere. Malfoy had to be up to something. There was no way he would say that to Harry for any other reason. He was trying to mess with him. And it was working. 

\-----

The day of the Gryffindor versus Slytherin Quidditch match dawned and Harry’s stomach was in knots. Not only did Gryffindor have to win – they were lying in third place after being beaten spectacularly by Ravenclaw earlier in the year – but Harry had to play Seeker against Malfoy. 

He took a calming breath and led his team out of the changing room, the cheers and boos from the crowd echoing around him. He noticed Malfoy right away. The Slytherin team were waiting in the middle of the pitch and Malfoy was easily distinguishable by his tall, slim frame and his hair, which seemed nearly golden in the sunlight. 

When it was time for the captains to shake hands, Malfoy clasped Harry’s in his and leaned forward. “Good luck out there, Potter. I don’t know how I’m going to be able to keep an eye on the snitch instead of you in those robes,” he said with a wink and stepped back to mount his broom.

Harry felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment and willed the redness away, conscious that the entire school was watching him. He kicked off from the ground as the whistle sounded and the balls were released, the snitch vanishing quickly in a flash of golden wings. The game started and Harry flew down the pitch, straining his eyes for a glimpse of his bounty, all the time aware of Malfoy’s presence. The Slytherin circled lazily around him, his head turning this way and that in search for the snitch and occasionally glancing over at Harry with a smirk. 

Harry tried to ignore him, he really did – he knew that Malfoy was just trying to distract him so he could beat him to the snitch – but there was something about the way the way that the blond flew, graceful, hair practically glowing in the sun, that forced Harry’s gaze to him again and again. The way his Quidditch robes fluttered around him, the way his strong thighs gripped onto his broomstick, the way, when he leaned forward in a burst of speed, Harry got the most amazing view of his-

What was he doing?! He was admiring – no, checking out – Draco sodding Malfoy! Harry shook his head in equal measures of disgust and confusion, willing away the tight feeling in his stomach and focusing on finding the snitch. 

There! Harry shot after the flash of gold. He circled around the goal posts, lying flat against his broomstick, and weaved through the stands, all the while his eyes locked on the snitch. He could feel Malfoy close on his tail as he reached out and closed his fingers around the tiny ball.  
“Potter!” Malfoy shouted behind him in warning, but too late.

Harry dimly registered the rapidly approaching grass – in his haste to catch the snitch, he had flown much too low – before he crashed into the pitch with a sickening crunch. The defeated fluttering of wings against his hand was the only thing Harry could feel as he lay as still as possible and hoped against hell that his broomstick was unharmed. Bones could be mended but his Firebolt had been a gift from Sirius.

A pale, worried face appeared above Harry. “Potter! Are you alright?”

“Nngh,” Harry groaned. “My broom?”

“You’re broom’s fine. It’s you I’m more worried about,” Malfoy said.

I must have hit my head harder than I thought, Harry mused as the Slytherin dropped to his knees beside him. “I think I’m alright.” He attempted to sit up and hissed as pain laced down his left arm. He clutched the injured arm to his chest, snitch still twitching in his right hand as hot tears burned in his eyes.

“Shit. You’re hurt. Here, let me help you up.” Malfoy shifted, reaching around Harry and lifting him to his feet.

Harry knew he should be protesting – the blond was practically hugging him for Merlin’s sake – but the pain shooting through him was making it hard to think of anything other than getting to the Hospital Wing as quickly as possible.

“Malfoy! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” an angry voice shouted from behind Harry.

“I thought that would be pretty obvious, weasel,” Malfoy drawled, not bothering to turn around. “I’m taking Potter to Madam Pomfrey.”

“But-“

“Ron,” Harry croaked. “Just drop it.” He needed a pain potion and he needed one now. “And get my broom would you?”

He heard Ron’s hesitation as concern for his best friend battled against his hatred of Malfoy. “Sure. We’ll be right behind you.”

With the help of Malfoy, Harry trudged back to the castle, all the while trying his hardest to ignore the warm body against him, the strong arms under his shoulders, and the smell of musk and grass that was threatening to overload his senses. He could feel Malfoy’s even breaths as they worked their way through the castle, blessedly empty with most of the school still out on the Quidditch pitch, and concentrated on the steady in and out to calm his own frantic breathing.

“That was some pretty risky flying,” Malfoy said conversationally.

Harry chuckled, grateful for a distraction from the pain. “Yeah, well, it won the match didn’t it?”

Malfoy snorted. “You’ve probably broken your arm though. And you scared me half to death.”

“Why do you even care?” Harry asked. He couldn’t figure it out. Up until now it had seemed like Malfoy was messing with him but this was different. This wasn’t him trying to distract Harry; he was acting like he genuinely cared.

The Slytherin looked at him and smirked. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

Just as Harry was about to demand more of an explanation, the harried figure of Madam Pomfrey came bustling round the corner of the corridor. “Oh, Mr. Potter. What have you done to yourself this time? Well, let’s get you to the Hospital Wing and fix you up,” she said, supporting Harry’s other side and leading the pair to the ward.

Harry was deposited onto a bed and received a pain potion, sighing in relief as a sweet numbness settled down his arm. He only had a few moments to relax before what seemed like the entirety of Gryffindor house barrelled through the ward doors.

“Well, I think that’s my cue to go. See you around, Potter,” Draco said with a wink as he escaped the sudden noise of the Hospital Wing.

“Harry! Are you alright, mate?” Ron shouted, rushing to his friend's side. Harry nodded causing the redhead to punch him on the arm. "That was absolutely brilliant! We've really got a chance at the Quidditch Cup now!"

The rest of his Quidditch team crowded around the bed but, as Harry accepted their congratulations and laughed with his teammates, he couldn’t help but glance after the retreating Slytherin.

\-----

“Hey! Harry, wake up!”

Harry scrunched his eyes shut in protest as a hand shook his shoulder. His grunted no, leave me alone – that, to be honest, came out like nnghlemlon – didn’t deter the hand one bit and, after another shake, Harry cracked his eyelids open to glare up at Ron.

“What?” he demanded.

Ron looked down at him in concern. “Sorry, Harry, but you were making really weird noises. Moaning and that. I thought it might have been You-Know-Who in your head again.”

Now that Ron mentioned it, Harry’s throat did feel a bit sore. In fact, he felt weird all over. Hot and sweaty and why did his boxers feel so damn tight?! Oh shit, Harry thought as glimpses of his dream came back to him in a rush of blond hair, warm skin and the scent of grass. His face flushed red.

“Err, t-thanks, Ron,” he stammered, willing his friend not to notice the rather prominent bulge under his covers. “I’m f-fine. Just g-going to get a quick shower.”

He nearly stumbled over his own feet in the hurry to get to the safety of the bathroom and slammed the door behind him in relief. His pyjamas were soaked through with sweat so Harry discarded them on the floor, confident that the house elves would have them clean and returned to him in no time, and stepped into the shower. As water cascaded down his back, he leaned his head against the hard tiles and tried to calm down his breathing, urging away the glimpses flying through his head and the hardness in his crotch. 

After a few moments, Harry’s breathing had slowed but his erection was still as prominent as ever. He groaned into the tiles as he realised that it wasn’t going to go away any time soon unless he did something about it. He debated what was worse, going down to breakfast with a raging erection or wanking in the shower to thoughts of… that, before he slowly reached down to grip himself with one hand. His eyes drifted shut as he began to move, faster and faster. He tried desperately to think of something, anything but the flashes of blond hair and pale skin that seemed to be seared into his mind. Harry’s orgasm crept up on him, the pressure coiling in his crotch peaking in an explosion of white hot pleasure before he had time to muffle his moans into his arm. 

Harry collapsed against the wall, his shaking legs no longer able to support his weight. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, trying to catch his breath. He had just wanked over Draco fucking Malfoy and the worst part was that he had bloody loved it.

\-----

Malfoy knew. Harry could just tell as he met the Slytherin’s eyes across the Great Hall. He flushed scarlet, convinced that his dirty secret was laid bare on his face and that Malfoy could see every perverted thought racing around in his mind.

Ever since the shower incident, as Harry was calling it now, he had been in a complete daze. It wasn’t the first time he had had a sexy dream – he was a teenage boy, after all – but it was the first time that the usual blurry images and vague shapes had manifested into a specific person. And a male person at that!

He stared down into his dinner and pushed his plate away; his stomach was too wrapped up in knots for Harry to even consider food. 

“I’m just going to go for a walk, guys,” he said as he stood up from the bench.

“Is everything alright, Harry?” Hermione asked worriedly. “You’ve seemed a bit off all day.”

Harry nodded. “I’m fine. Just need a bit of fresh air. I’ll see you back in the common room.”

Rushing out of the Great Hall, Harry made for the entrance doors and took a deep breath when he emerged into the cold spring evening. The sun was just beginning to set and, looking at the burnt sky, Harry felt himself relax.

“Hey,” a voice called out, making Harry jump. 

He twisted round to see Malfoy walking over, the entrance doors swinging shut behind him. “Malfoy? What are you doing out here?”

“I saw you leave dinner,” he replied. “I wanted to check that you were alright after your accident.”

“Oh. Yeah, I’m all fixed up,” Harry said, waving and twisting his healed arm in confirmation.  
Malfoy nodded. “I’m glad.”

The silence stretched and Harry racked his brain for something else to say.

“Err,” he began eloquently.

“It’s such a lovely evening; I think I might take a walk around the lake. Would you like to join me?” Malfoy asked and, before he could think about what he was doing, Harry found himself nodding. 

It was one of the most surreal experiences of his life. In all their years of knowing each other Harry couldn’t recall a single conversation, a single encounter that hadn’t ended in an argument, insults or a fist fight. And yet here they were and Harry had to admit that Malfoy seemed like a completely different person. He was funny and smart and, although Harry would never confess thinking it, looked amazing in the evening sunlight. The fading light falling on the Slytherin’s face made his eyes glow like molten silver and the crisp spring air had turned his nose an adorable shade of pink. 

It wasn’t until Harry heard his teeth chatter that he realised that he had forgot to bring his coat. His school uniform was hardly enough to keep away the evening chill and he found that once he started shivering he couldn’t stop.

“You came out for a walk and you didn’t think to bring a coat?” Malfoy questioned. “Honestly, Gryffindors.” The blond stopped in front of Harry, unwound the green and silver striped scarf from around his neck and placed it carefully onto Harry.

“Wh-what are you d-doing,” Harry asked in surprise in between bouts of shivering.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow and looked at him like he was a complete idiot. “I’m keeping you warm, of course,” he said as he slowly started to wrap the scarf around Harry’s neck.

Harry resisted the temptation to close his eyes as warm breath ghosted over his face but he couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped when Malfoy’s fingers brushed the sensitive skin on his neck. A second later Malfoy’s hands were on him, rubbing up and down his arms to generate heat and Harry felt like he was going to explode from the butterflies suddenly running riot in his stomach.

“There,” Malfoy said so quietly it was almost a whisper. “All better.”

Harry nodded dumbly, aware that he probably couldn’t manage a single coherent word in that moment. Malfoy smiled. “Come on; let’s get you back to the castle.”

On the walk back, Harry was increasingly aware of Malfoy’s proximity. He imagined he could feel the heat from the Slytherin’s body through the few feet of air separating them and was almost disappointed when the large entrance doors loomed before them.

The heat hit Harry’s face as they left the chilling night air behind them, his skin tingling as the numbness that had settled in started to recede. He looked at Malfoy, unsure of himself now that they were back in the castle, but the Slytherin simply smiled at him.

“Thank you for your company. I had a lovely time. Goodnight, Harry,” he said as he turned towards the dungeons.

Harry navigated the corridors in a daze, thoughts whirring about in his head at a thousand miles a second. Only when he entered the Gryffindor common room to stares and whispers did Harry realise that he was still wearing Malfoy’s scarf and only after he had escaped to the quiet of the seventh year dormitory did he realise that the Slytherin had called him Harry.

\-----

An hour later found Harry sitting cross-legged on his bed and staring off into space. He had quickly hidden the scarf under his pillow – if you had accused him of pressing the wool to his face and breathing in the mingled scents of grass and lemon before hiding it he would have blushed furiously and told you to mind your own bloody business – and was now lost in a daze.

Scenes of the evening played over and over in his head: Harry leaving to go outside, Draco checking up on him, being invited for a walk, having a surprisingly pleasant conversation, Draco wrapping his scarf around Harry’s neck…

Harry shivered as he remembered the tingle that went through him at Draco’s touch. He knew that he couldn’t have imagined the tension between them in that moment. When Draco-

Wait, when had he started thinking of Malfoy as Draco?!

Well, he supposed it was only proper to use the Slytherin’s first name now that Harry had an article of his clothing hidden in his bed. Harry’s cheeks turned red as he determinedly halted that train of thought.

“Draco,” he said, trying out the name. It felt strange, all rolling r’s and vowels, but the more he said it the more he began to like the sound of it. “Draco. Draco. Dra-“

The dormitory room slammed open revealing a very confused and angry-looking Ron.

“Harry,” the redhead shouted. “What’s all this rubbish about you coming into the common room wearing a Slytherin scarf?”

Oh shit, Harry thought as he scrambled around for an explanation. “Err…”

Hermione appeared in the staircase behind Ron looking out of breath. “Ronald!” she scolded. “Don’t just run off and barge in on Harry like that.”

“But- but Seamus said that-“

Hermione interrupted. “Yes, I know what Seamus said. But that doesn’t mean that you have to charge up here like a rampant hippogriff and shout at Harry.”

Ron stared moodily at the floor.

“Good,” she declared as she took a seat at the bottom of Harry’s bed. “Now, people are saying that you came in wearing a Slytherin scarf, Harry.”

Excuses flew around in his head – the whole common room had imagined it, it was a trick of the light, it was a joke, or that a beautiful blond had given it to him and that since then Harry’s heart had yet to return to its normal pace. There was nothing for it. He was going to have to tell them.  
Harry looked down at his hands and slowly nodded his head.

“What?” Ron asked. “You were actually wearing a Slytherin scarf? Why, Harry?”

Hermione glared at him to be quiet. “Harry, did someone give it to you?”

He refused to meet their eyes as he nodded again, the tips of his ears turning pink.

Out the corner of his eye Harry saw Ron open his mouth in protest and quickly shut it again at a stern look from Hermione.

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” Hermione reassured as she shifted closer to him and leaned down to meet his eyes, resting a hand on top of his in support. “But we’re your friends, Harry, and you can tell us anything.”

Harry bit his lip. She was right; they were his best friends and had stayed by his side through so much. He took a deep breath. “It was Malfoy.”

“What?!” Ron bellowed at the same moment Hermione sighed, “Ahh.”

“Are you insane, Harry?” Ron demanded. “Why the hell did he give you his scarf? This is Malfoy, the pointy twat who’s being trying to make our lives hell for the last six years. What the hell is going on? And Hermione! Why do you look so damn calm?”

Harry looked over at Hermione who did, in fact, look extremely calm, almost as if she was expecting this.

“Well,” she answered, “it’s just that it was kind of obvious, wasn’t it.” At Harry and Ron’s dumfounded faces, she continued. “I mean, he’s been flirting with you for ages, Harry.”

“Flirting?!”

“Yes, Ron. Flirting. What do you think he’s been doing for the past year or so? Constantly trying to get Harry’s attention, picking fights with him, following him around. It’s textbook pigtail pulling.”

“Huh,” Harry mumbled as everything slid into place: Draco’s weird behaviour recently, the compliments, the touching, the scarf. He had been flirting.

Ron looked between them in disbelief. “Why am I the only one who seems to find the idea of Malfoy flirting with Harry completely fucked up?”

“Oh shush, Ron. It’s been coming for a long time and if you were too blind to see it then that’s your problem,” Hermione chastised.

“But- Harry?” Ron turned to him in desperation, his eyes pleading with Harry to tell him that it was all nonsense. Harry shrugged his shoulders in apology and pulled the green and silver scarf out from under his pillow.

“Er, yeah. So, I’ve been a bit confused,” he explained haltingly, fingers nervously tangling in the soft tassels of the scarf. “But this evening Draco found me outside and we went for a walk. It was...” Harry searched for a word to describe the experience – he doubted ‘perfect’ or ‘spine-tingling’ would be very well received by Ron, “… it was nice,” he finished lamely. 

Hermione smiled smugly at Ron who looked as though someone had just told him that Dobby was his father. “So,” Ron thought out loud as if trying to make sense of everything, “Malfoy likes Harry and apparently has been flirting with him all year. And Harry likes Malfoy and has his scarf hidden under his pillow. That about right?”

“Um, yeah,” Harry answered cautiously, aware that Ron was teetering on the edge. 

"So you're gay? Why didn't you tell me sooner, Harry?" Ron demanded. "We've been mates for ages."

"I know, Ron. But it kind of snuck up on me as well. I've only really just figured it all out."  
"Alright, but you know you can talk to me, yeah? I mean, my own brother is gay so I know how hard it can be."

Huh. Harry hadn't thought about that. He remembered Charlie coming out a few years ago, remembered how quickly Molly and Arthur and the other Weasleys had accepted him. Why had he thought it would be any different with him? "You're right," Harry said apologetically. "Sorry, mate."

Ron nodded. "Well, alright then. Oh Merlin! You're not going to start snogging Malfoy in front of me now are you?" he protested with a shudder.

“Oh, ignore him, Harry,” Hermione chipped in. “I’m very happy for you. The two of you would make an absolutely adorable couple. Now what are you going to do next? He made the first move so now it’s your turn. Oh! You should ask him to Hogsmeade!”

Harry glanced at Ron, who simply smirked and gave him a look that clearly said mate, you got yourself into this mess, and sat back, resigned to an evening spent planning how to woo Draco Malfoy. 

\-----

Harry stepped reluctantly down the staircase to breakfast the following morning and shot Hermione a glare as she jabbed a bony finger impatiently into his back. Nerves had been swirling around in his gut all morning and, as the chattering of voices from the Great Hall reached him, he had to battle against his instinct to run back to his bed and hide under the covers. 

He took a seat at the Gryffindor table after many more prods from Hermione and glanced surreptitiously over to the Slytherin table, both relieved and terrified to see that Draco was still eating breakfast. The blond, as if feeling Harry’s eyes on him, glanced up curiously. His lips twitched in a small smile and Harry smiled back shakily, fighting against the nausea that was threatening to overwhelm him. Draco tilted his head in the direction of the entrance hall and stood up confidently from the bench, leaving Harry to scramble up and follow him, ignoring Hermione’s whisper of “Good luck, Harry” as he left the hall. 

“Hey.”

Harry turned towards the voice and found Draco leaning against the wall in a nearby corridor.

“Er, hi,” he said, instantly forgetting every piece of advice Hermione had given him about being confident. All he could think was that Draco was smiling at him and that he was seconds away from saying something completely stupid like how soft his hair looked. “I still have your scarf,” Harry blurted out.

“Oh?” Draco raised his eyebrow. “You must have been on the receiving end of some pretty funny looks going into the Gryffindor common room wearing that last night.”

“You have no idea,” Harry laughed. “There’s a rumour going round that I’ve been kidnapped and replaced with a Slytherin spy.”

Draco snorted.

“But thank you, though,” Harry said. He took a deep breath; here goes nothing. “Er, I could give it back to you on Saturday.”

“Saturday?” Draco’s forehead crinkled in confusion.

His face flushed bright red. “Yeah. Er, in Hogsmeade. I could give it to you then. That is, if you want to go. With me. To Hogsmeade.”

“Harry,” the Slytherin interrupted, taking pity on him. “I’d love to.”

“Yeah?” Harry asked. He knew that he was smiling like a loon but he just couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Draco smiled back at the Gryffindor and, reaching out, clasped a warm hand around Harry’s. “Definitely.”

Harry jumped as the screeching of benches signalled the end of breakfast, giving the pair mere seconds warning before a flood of students poured through the double doors and into the entrance hall.

“I’ve got to go,” Draco said, straightening the bag on his shoulder. “I have Arithmancy first period. But I’ll see you later?”

Harry nodded, ignoring the strange looks people were shooting them. “See you later, Draco.”  
And if he had the smallest trace of doubt about Draco, even the tiniest hint that he was making the wrong decision, the look of amazement on the Slytherin’s face at hearing Harry say his name would have blasted it to shreds.

\-----

Harry stuffed the green and silver striped scarf into his bag as he ran down the staircase and out of the Gryffindor common room. It had taken him twice as long as usual to get ready this morning; by the time he had emptied his trunk, realised he had nothing to wear, called Hermione in to help and finally settled on his least ripped pair of jeans and a fairly crease free red shirt, he barely had time to guzzle down a healthy breakfast of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans before he had to bolt down to meet Draco in the entrance hall.

“Hey,” Harry huffed, immediately grateful that he had the excuse of catching his breath to silently admire Draco who, he had to admit, looked fan-fucking-tastic.

Form-fitting grey trousers hugged his slender legs and a deep blue jumper that looked so soft it had probably cost more than Harry’s entire wardrobe curved around his shoulders. Draco laughed and Harry realised with a jolt that he had been caught staring.

“Err, blue. You’re wearing blue. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wearing blue before,” he commented lamely to hide his embarrassment.

Draco raised an eyebrow and led them out into the cool spring air. “Not everything I own is green and silver. And anyway, blue is my favourite colour.”

As they left the Hogwarts ground, Harry’s nerves that they wouldn’t have anything to talk about, that they’d walk in awkward silence until they reached Hogsmeade, dissipated. He had never noticed how animated Draco was before but now, in this new light, Harry found himself captivated by the Slytherin; by the hands that flailed around wildly as he talked, by the face that lit up when he told a particularly funny story and by the smile, crinkling the corners of his eyes, that seemed only for Harry.

“You have got to be kidding,” Draco was currently ranting, hands gesturing excitedly. “The Cannons have got absolutely no chance of beating the Falcons this year.”

“I don’t know. Their new Seeker might cause Falmouth some problems,” Harry interjected, enjoying winding up the blond way too much.

Draco snorted. “Pft, only if he manages to stay on his broom long enough.”

Harry laughed, amazed by how easy it seemed between them. But he supposed that, if what Hermione said was right, they’d been dancing around each other for a while now.

“Hey, do you mind if we pop into Honeydukes?” he asked as they arrived in Hogsmeade.

Draco nodded. “Sure. I promised Pansy I’d get her some Ice Mice anyway as a thank you.”

“A thank you for what?”

“She helped me with something last week and it turns out that it’s paid off,” he replied with a smirk.

Harry followed Draco into the shop and swerved as he was nearly knocked off his feet by a blonde Hufflepuff who had sweets piled high in her arms. “Oops, sorry! But chocolate calls!” she shouted in apology as she made her way across the store.

A chuckle reverberated in his ear, the warm breath against the back of his neck making his skin tingle, and Harry jumped as he realised that, in his effort to avoid the sugar-crazed Hufflepuff, he had pressed himself entirely against Draco. 

“Hufflepuffs,” the Slytherin snorted. “They’re all as mad as nifflers.”

Harry laughed nervously, hyper aware of the warm body against his side as they stepped apart and circled the shop together, Draco picking up a bag of Ice Mice for Parkinson and Harry, after much deliberation, deciding on a box of Every Flavour Beans.

“I can’t believe you eat those things. The last time I had one it tasted like old socks,” Draco grimaced as they stepped out into the cobbled street.

“But that’s the fun of it!” Harry exclaimed. “You never know what flavour you’re going to get.”  
Draco raised one unenthusiastic eyebrow as if to say, you call that fun?

“Aw, come on, Draco,” Harry urged, shaking the box of sweets in his face. “Look, we’ll do it together”.

The blond eyed the box mistrustfully and reluctantly held out his hand. “Fine. But if it’s horrible then you have to buy me a butterbeer.”

Harry grinned and plucked two beans from the box, placing one in Draco’s hand. “Deal,” he said, throwing the other sweet into his mouth.

As he chewed – chocolate fudge, get in – he couldn’t help but laugh at the look of pure betrayal and disgust that blossomed on Draco’s face.

“Eughh! Soap!” he sputtered dramatically and glared at Harry. “Stop laughing at me, you prat.”

“Sorry,” Harry apologised as he tried and failed to keep a straight face. “But at least you get a free drink out of this.”

“I’ll need it after that.”

Harry rolled his eyes and, true to his word, bought them a round of butterbeer once they were ensconced in a cosy corner booth at the Three Broomsticks. He had tried to convince himself that the hushed whispers and curious stares that had started upon their arrival had been nothing more than his imagination but he had to admit that the sight of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy going for a drink together must have been a strange one to see. 

“I hope you weren’t planning on keeping this a secret,” Draco said almost nervously, as if he thought that the unwanted attention would frighten Harry away. “It’s going to be all over the school by dinnertime that we were here together.”

Harry considered that. The rumours would definitely be flying by the time they returned to Hogwarts; there would be whispers in the Great Hall, staring in the corridors and probably outrage from some of his friends, but Harry realised that he didn’t care. The people who meant the most had accepted him and that was all that mattered.

“Ron and Hermione know I’m here with you and I really don’t care what anyone else thinks. I like you,” Harry confessed. 

Draco flushed the most adorable shade of pink and smiled. “Well. That’s alright then,” he said, reaching under the table and entwining his hand with Harry’s.

Harry grinned at the Slytherin, the strangeness of holding another guy’s hand overpowered by the feeling of rightness bubbling through him. They finished their drinks quickly, eager to be away from the almost claustrophobic environment of the Three Broomsticks, and breathed a sigh of relief as they left the crowds of Hogsmeade behind them. 

They had parted hands briefly in their haste to leave but now, alone together on the footpath that skirted the lake and led back to the castle, Harry slid his fingers between Draco’s and revelled in the feeling of the strong, warm hand in his own. As they walked, they talked about everything and anything; how they were finding their NEWTs, what did they think of the new Nimbus 3000 and, currently, what they wanted to do after school.

“I’d love to do a potions apprenticeship if Snape would take me,” Draco was explaining. “I mean, there are other potions masters out there but he’s one of the best. What about you?”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought about becoming an Auror but, I don't know, it feels too straightforward.”

“Hm,” Draco nodded. “I understand. It’s what everyone’s expecting you to do.”

“Exactly! I’ve actually been thinking about Quidditch. Not playing professionally but maybe making broomsticks or something.”

“That sounds great, Harry! There are some wonderful apprenticeships out there in broomstick crafting.”

The more Harry thought about it the more it seemed like a brilliant idea. “Yeah?”

“Of course. You’d be brilliant at it too, obviously, just like everything else,” the blond joked, nudging Harry with his shoulder as they approached the castle.

“I’m not good at everything. I can barely even get my hair under control most days.”

Draco laughed as they climbed the stone staircase up to the entrance hall. “Yeah, right. Like you don’t know how cute your messy hair is.”

Harry snorted, secretly pleased at the compliment. “Oh! I nearly forgot,” he exclaimed, rummaging around in his bag and pulling out a bundle of green and silver material. “I still have your scarf.”

“Hm,” Draco said, reaching out to take the scarf. “Maybe you should keep it. The colour suits you,” he observed as he moved in close and carefully wound the wool once around Harry’s neck.

Goosebumps sprung up all over Harry as the soft material settled onto his skin. He bit his lip nervously as he looked at Draco, the soft smirk on the Slytherin’s face all the warning he received before a warm mouth was gently pressed against his. Through the sound of his heart pounding in his ears, one thought echoed around in Harry’s head – I’m gay, I’m so gay, totally 100% gay, well, for Draco at least – before soft hands reached up to cup his face and his brain shut off completely.

After seconds? minutes? days? Draco pulled away, lips brushing softly against Harry's one last time, and smiled smugly at the dazed expression on his face. “Do you have any plans for tomorrow?”

“Er,” Harry croaked, pausing to clear his throat. “Er, no. I was just going to try to make a start on that Charms essay.”

“Great. How about we do it together? I could meet you in the library?” Draco proposed.

Harry nodded. “Yeah. Sounds good.” There was no way in hell he’d manage to get much work done sitting next to Draco but, oh well. He could always beg Hermione to let him copy off her later. 

As they said their goodbyes and Harry turned towards Gryffindor tower, he braced himself for the barrage of questions that he knew would be awaiting him there.

\-----

Harry sighed as he escaped the common room. He hadn’t been wrong about the questioning; as soon as he returned Hermione had pounced on him, dragged him upstairs and demanded to hear every last detail. But that was at least better than the mutters and whispers from his fellow Gryffindors that had greeted him. Talk definitely spreads quickly, Harry thought as he made his way downstairs for dinner with Ron and Hermione, his bad mood immediately disappearing when a familiar, blond figure came into sight.

Upon seeing the Slytherin, Ron came to a halt, the gears visibly working in his head as his urge to insult Draco fought with his loyalty to Harry. Eventually, he settled on glaring at the Slytherin until Hermione grabbed his arm and pulled him through the open doors of the Great Hall. Draco sneered at the retreating redhead and, as Harry rolled his eyes, shrugged as if to say, well, he started it.

“So, the rumours definitely beat us back,” Draco greeted. “I got accosted at least twenty times on the way to my room.”

Harry laughed. “No one’s accosted me yet but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.”

“Well,” Draco grinned wickedly, “shall we give them something to talk about?”

At Harry’s nod, Draco grabbed his hand and, leading him into full view of the diners in the Great Hall, dipped his head down to kiss him. And, ignoring the outraged shouts and shocked gasps, Harry threw his arms around the Draco’s neck and kissed him back with all he had.

\-----FIN-----

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos = love


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